


Hot in the Shade

by brittlelimbs



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Infidelity, Lactation Kink, Light Mommy Kink, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, inducing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12965418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs
Summary: He’d read the new message a second time, then once more, head still somehow snagging hard and tripping on the words:This may be totally out of the ballpark on favors. But uhm, I am currently not on speaking terms with my boyfriend at the moment so… I was wondering if you would help induce labor by having sex with me? You can totally say no…... I just figured since we’re friends and all it wouldn’t hurt to ask. I’m desperate right now. I want this baby out.In which Ben's friend Rey asks a huge favor of him, and he's helpless to anything but exactly what she asks for. Based off of that one weird text screenshot post made famous by tumblr.





	Hot in the Shade

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, kinky madness that came about when bettydays sent me a link to this ridiculously popular tumblr post and said "please for the love of god make this a fic":  
> http://ruinedchildhood.com/post/166097628944/zackisontumblr-uhh
> 
> not rlly sure what this is. texts are based directly on the screenshot from the post. has light lactation and mommy kink...... rip. enjoy

Her shoes are somehow smaller than he expected, kicked off next to the doormat like she’d been in a great hurry when she slipped them off. Red converse, tongues licked wide open, laces in a tangle that Ben has to step over as he enters— _trespasses_ —the apartment.

“Thank you,” he mutters, shifting his messenger bag uncomfortably across his shoulder.

Rey, golden thing, manages something like a smile as she kicks the shoes aside with one socked foot like an afterthought. She shrugs. “I can only wear slippers, now. Those are too hard to tie.”

It looks like the boyfriend in here; the attempt at minimalist modern-chic still peeps through Rey’s disarray strewn overtop, sweaters and loose cartons of takeout and stacks of books to be read heaped on the Ikea furniture in a way that softens their sharp, well-curated corners. Rey has a way of doing that—softening things, sweetening them. The dishes piled in the sink only speak of a week of irresponsibility at most, which is impressive. He had expected worse.

It all still smells like the boyfriend, too, like Hux, an angular sound that might stand for his first or last name (Ben isn’t sure about that, either), but which drives heavy at the base of his neck; a bit of red hair and a witty, quipped mouth he saw standing next to her at a bar, once, smoky and dark and nebulously unpleasant. Rey shifts her hand to cup the enormous swell of her stomach beneath her too-big Coldplay band tee and there it is again: _Hux._

 

Rey is glowing, even scrubbing around in sweatpants and a lumpy bun that’s falling out behind her ears. She’s soft and swollen with the baby in all parts of her, so full of life that it’s like she radiates it from a four foot standing distance. Ben’s smitten with her stiff fingers, wants to kiss and wants to hold, bask in her like she’s a human nightlight or some shit; warm to even look at. She’s ripe, fit to pop, and Ben has arrived in his cords and cable-knit sweater to fuck her till bursting. He blushes _._

 

He’d stared at his phone for a full five minutes when he first got the text, little screen cradled between his knees as he bent over it between appointments during his office hours. She’d shot him a singular _hey_ , and he’d immediately replied with the same, all old efforts not to be overeager easily thwarted. It had been weeks since she’d dropped out on account of the baby, and Ben had honestly been trying to think less about her, less about any of it. Forget he way he wished the Art History and Physics departments had their office blocks closer together, or at least weren’t so diametrically opposed in the academic spectrum. He looked at the little Bodhisattva figurine on his desk. His phone buzzed again.

 

_I have a huge favor to ask you!_

Ben stared dumbly at the words.

 

 _Oh boy_ , he had typed back, hands suddenly feeling too clumsy to use such a delicate device. Has anyone ever cracked their phone just by squeezing too hard?--

 

He’d read the new message a second time, then once more, head still somehow snagging hard and tripping on the words:

 

_This may be totally out of the ballpark on favors. But uhm, I am currently not on speaking terms with my boyfriend at the moment so… I was wondering if you would help induce labor by having sex with me? You can totally say no…... I just figured since we’re friends and all it wouldn’t hurt to ask. I’m desperate right now. I want this baby out._

 

He hadn’t heard the student knocking at his door as she tried to get his attention for a second time, nor the third. His mouth had gone desiccated-dry and it hurt to swallow, or to think.

 

“Professor?”

 

She was one of his best students. Noon appointment. Ben was suddenly, dizzily aware that he was hard, cock pushing insistently against the inseam of his pant leg like the needy morning wood he used to pop as a teenager. _Fuck_.

 

“I’m—sorry. Sorry.” He blustered a hand across his perspiring face and scalp, crossed his legs and scooted closer under his desk. “What can I help you with, Meghan?” he asked, already scrambling to piece together enough of an answer about the Chartres Cathedral and the midterm so that he didn’t lose face entirely.

 

He doesn’t remember what he said, exactly, only that took him one minute to text back: _yes_.

 

 

“Do you want something to drink?” Rey asks, already pulling a tall, expensive-looking bottle (Hux, again) from a cabinet beside the refrigerator. It’s quarter to three in the afternoon on a Sunday, and the light in the kitchen is too softened and airy for Ben to be drinking hard liquor. He nods.

The way she’s holding the small of her back as she moves makes her pain obvious; he can see how she’s starting to fray a bit around the edges, legs turned and feet splayed around her stomach—not full, but _overfull_. She’s pouring a splash of what looks like gin into a coffee mug and Ben wants to usher her into one of the stools situated around the island countertop so she doesn’t have to stand, lay her out on the couch and massage her poor, sore arches. He hates Hux, utterly, to have abandoned her like this.

 

She pushes the mug across the counter in an offering, holding his gaze. Knowing Ben even as she doesn’t know him, yet, not any more than a few months of graduate school acquaintanceship might allow. Pava knew her first. _Ben!_ _This is Rey. We went to undergrad together yadda yadda_ ; Ben and her in different programs, hardly brushing against each other save for at the corner store, a handful of bars, friends-of friends and the potential for more, never really articulated. Plenty enough to get his heart going in a chronic way, the soreness that a crush always puts in the bones of his chest, but. They’re too much of a pair of strangers to be doing this, Ben thinks.

 

“Thanks,” he says, because Rey seems to understand; maybe it’s really the strangeness that makes him so perfect for it.

 

He tosses back the whole thing in one go and grimaces at the burn, but as far as he can tell, it’s good. Rey gives a tight smile and Ben pushes the mug back for another round. They make small talk for a while, not awful but not notable; how school is going, which one of his students wrote a ridiculous essay for the midterm, which one of her students would laugh at the cat memes she put in the syllabus, etc. He realizes, after a while, that that the headache knotting at his forehead is coming from the effort of holding her eye contact for so long. He’s noticed that the bridge of her nose wrinkles when she laughs and now he can’t look away.

 

Her phone pings and the spell is broken; his eyes finally drop, watching her ignore the waiting text in favor of pouring him a third drink, totally lost as to how to talk about this whole ludicrous situation. He should tell her to stop, faintly worried about functional equipment and whiskey dick and getting it up, while simultaneously humming with an undeniable low-level arousal. He blinks rapidly; it’s bewildering.

 

“Are you ready for the hospital?” he asks suddenly, jerkily leaning over the counter, neither here nor there, body weighted and hot as if sharing a secret. “I mean, if it works—“

 

“ _If_ it works,” she agrees.

 

“—are you, uhm. Good to go?”

 

Turns out Rey has been good to go for the past week, going on two. She has a bag packed in the bedroom and the fastest Uber routes to the hospital scouted on her phone.

 

“I could drive!” Ben blurts instantly. “I mean, it would be no problem.” He doesn’t say how rude it is for Hux to have put a baby in her and left her like that in the first place. He doesn’t think about too much about how lovely it would be to wait for the contractions with her, either. Hazy dream-hours, or days, even. His tipsy brain plays a two second fantasy in which he moves in—temporarily of course.

 

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Rey says, but not unkindly. “And I should probably tell Armitage when it’s coming, so.” She shrugs. “He might show up.”

 

“Armitage?”

 

“The father.”

 

“Oh,” Ben says, and decides to shut the fuck up.

 

 

The air in the bedroom is tense, residually nasty like a grimy ring around a bathtub, though Ben tries to let the rankle of it slide off his gin-supple muscles; one side of the king-sized bed is thoroughly crumpled, covers peeled back, while the other is at anal military attention, pressed flat, bedside table bare save for a lamp. The strip of carpet on that side of the bed still looks freshly vacuumed, untouched, and tells Ben all he needs to know on that subject.

All at once, his libido shrivels up like a spooked animal, a flighty bird, one of those weird anemone things that darts in on itself when you touch it. His mouth is gummed closed and dry; _fuck him, why did he have so much to drink?_ The Hux-flattened side of the bed glares up at him, and Ben’s sense of disbelief, faithfully suspended thus far, drops on his head like a ton of bricks.

_What is he doing here?_

He opens the creaking trap of his mouth: _How do you want to do this?_ He means to say, but it just comes out “How do we do this?” instead, like a child. He flutters at the threshold of Rey’s bedroom, breathtakingly nervous—like test-nerves, like the sick lurch of uncertainty as your plane takes off. He can feel the dread of it in his stomach, acidic zig-zag-zap.

Rey gently touches his arm, and when Ben looks to her it’s painfully obvious that every square inch of his body must be screaming: _shit!!!!_

“You can say no, you know that?” she says softly, the backs of her knuckles brushing the outside of his wrist. “Even now, you can say no.”

“I can?”

“Of course.”

“Then when’s the point of no return?” he asks with a watery smile.

She tilts her chin, like she’s considering it.

“After you blow your load in my twat, I think.”

Ben laughs breathlessly, arousal twisting heavy in his gut at the rudeness of the words, the image.

“Okay.”

 

He slips his leather belt off with a slick snake-slither as she gets on the bed, still firmly tucking herself to one side as if Hux’s body is still laying on the bed in gaunt repose and they’re about to fuck next to it. The idea should disgust him, but something about that makes Ben’s dick so fucking hard, pressing insistently against the metal teeth of his zipper and causing problems for his trembling fingers as they fumble at the button. The raw vindication of having Rey, when Hux, the villain, cannot. Heady stuff.

It only gets worse when Rey laboriously starts to shimmy her sweatpants and her underwear down her hips, sighing and puffing so much that he’s worried, for a moment, that he’ll have to help her. She notices him staring.

“She’s been literal hell for the past few weeks,” she gripes, finally sliding the elastic waistband of her panties down her calves. “Little fucker’s been taking her time in there. Hence, you.”

“Hence, me,” he agrees, and, oh, it’s a girl. He hadn’t asked.

The T-shirt didn’t do her body justice. Ben blatantly ogles as she peels it off, devouring the newness, the ripeness, how she’s gone round as a sun-soaked peach; her belly must’ve dropped weeks ago, sitting heavy and proud atop the cradle of her pelvis, another sign that she’s long past due. Hux staked his claim deeply and thoroughly. Ben feels his cock struggle to rise in his briefs, as if trying to inch ridiculously closer to her body, yearning to penetrate, and reaches down to cup it on instinct.

Rey huffs a laugh. “I was ready to help, but it looks like you won’t be needing it.” She undoes the front fasten on her no-nonsense bra to let her breasts spill out, heavy and swollen as the rest of her. And then there she is, completely naked on the bed.

“Oh, um—yeah,” Ben stutters miserably, squeezing his cock through the cotton, thinking about the delicious size of her nipples. “It’s good to go, I guess.”

Only too late did he realize he’s just missed out on a very pregnant Rey on her knees, sucking him till he was hard enough to fuck her right. Maybe her with his cock shoved between those huge, lush tits, squeezing him like the cute little almost-Rey girls in the pornos he watches on the sly sometimes—

“I might need a hand,” Rey says.

He’s surging forwards, anxious to do something, _anything,_ to help her. “Here, let me, uh,” he starts and stops, before settling by the edge of the bed, knees on carpet, hands hesitantly on her legs. “Let me, please.” Her pussy is right there and he has to swallow the spit welling in his mouth to keep from drooling. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. With his help, she scooches laboriously forwards towards him, opens her legs, and then gently presses his head down to meet her.

He feasts, making his tongue wet, soft, licking and rubbing and kissing and suckling on the pert nub of her clit until she’s using his hair to pull him away. She swears, tugging on his scalp, both as an expletive and as a promise: _gonna come if you keep moving your mouth that way, Ben, fuck_. His pleasure at this is the deep, flushed secret kind that you can only show on the inside. He smiles into the hot seam of her thigh and hopes she doesn’t see it.

Ben manages to only stagger a little bit as he stands, lowers his hand into his briefs and takes himself up with a brisk pumps. Like he even has to use the friction to get hard enough to fuck her, now, when his cock is already drooling for it. Rey huffs rolls onto her side, beached, showing off her wet cunt, and something about her immobility makes Ben even harder.

“Okay,” he breathes again, and feels the word through him like a ballast, gin buzzing in his ears.

He knees down closer, taking the soft crook her knee and pushing it up towards her chest so he can find her, and Rey tries to help. One of her hands snakes down around her belly to reach towards her entrance, and she’s opening for him beautifully, he thinks, like a thick, wet bloom. She’s sopping wet from Ben’s mouth and the slickness is running down the seam between her ass and pussy. More than ready.

“Get her out, Ben,” she grunts as he crams his dick in, in, trying to get her sheathed on his too big cock without blowing his load at the same time because she’s so hot it’s ridiculous. He tries move slow and gentle at first, not entirely sure about any part of fucking like this even as they do it. His head spins at the thought that he’s somehow retracing Hux’s steps, echoing him, paving over where he left his mark nine months ago with his own dick. He wonders for a fleeting second if he might jostle the baby like this, hurt her, accidentally get things moving too fast and urgent. Fuck it up somehow, literally. The angle is awkward, and it feels like heaven and she’s panting and sighing but he can tell he’s not finding something that’s good enough for her.

“Could you, uh, ride me?” he asks, using the heel of one hand to wipe the sweat off his brow while the other holds her hips tight to his against his thrusts. He has no idea how pregnant sex should work, but just, he needs this to be good for her.

“I could try,” she says.

So they try. Ben steals a pillow from the Hux side of the bed and gets propped up against the headboard, dick red and wet and pointing straight skyward, rude as an exclamation point. Rey straddles his hips; he has to help guide her down because she’s too big to grab his cock beneath her and line herself up, but it works. She sinks down on him with a sigh, then starts a deep, rolling rhythm that makes Ben groan and clutch at her on instinct.

“Take it, Rey,” he gasps, blind with pleasure. “Take what you need.” She’s so heavy on top of him, nearly too heavy with child to lift her ass from his hips without help, but he’s strong and he loves it, even if they can’t manage this for long. Maybe they won’t have to; Rey’s flush has climbed from her collar bones up her neck and sits blotchy on her cheeks, telltale signs of pleasure. But her chest, her chest looks even worse, swollen and heaving with each thrust. Her breasts are far too full, painfully looking, even--

Ben is swallowing his spit and she’s grabbing his hair again and her intent is just as perfect as before, yanking him sloppily towards one of her nipples. Ben’s lips fumble to latch on and can’t even believe this is real, that this is actually happening, stuck right in the middle of the hottest chaotic mess of his life. “Suck,” she commands, the word hanging stark in the room above their humid panting, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from coming inside her right then and there. He tongues her nipple to help get the flow going, and before long he’s got a heady, sweet mouthful. Rey moans. He swallows eagerly, and can feel drool and milk leaking down his chin, her breast. Her baby’s milk, he thinks, wild with arousal. Hux’s milk. He’s stealing it all for himself and he couldn’t stop for a moment, even for the space to breathe.

 _Good baby_ , _helping Mama_ , she whispers, petting his hollowed cheeks and his hair, like the words have been drawn out of her in a fugue, and holy _fuck._ Ben sucks harder, starting to jackrabbit up erratically with little jags of his hips as hot, undeniable pleasure begins bloom in his loins. He pulls off her breast for a moment to warn her: “m’ close.”

Rey sweats and sighs in some sort of unspoken agreement, and searches for an even faster rhythm with her hips. They’re starting to wreck Hux’s side of the bed, ruining it, and she’s the most beautiful thing that Ben’s ever seen in his entire life, bar none.

“Pretend-- she’s yours,” she gasps, and Ben isn’t quite sure he heard her right over the roar of blood in his ears, but doesn’t care; he’s fucking her like an animal, all reservation and fear evaporated in the wake of his need to come inside her. Up. Up. Up. A handful of slip-slide thrusts more and Rey quakes and squeezes, coming on his cock like she’s falling apart. Ben goes down not long after, managing to lift his hips a few spare inches off the bed beneath her with the strength of his need. Sweat stings his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he pants, pushing gush after hot gush into her trembling cunt. It takes a minute for him to come back to his body; he hasn’t come that hard in _months_. Bliss. After a moment, Rey is with it enough to rise off of him on shaking legs, letting his softening cock and come fall wetly against his belly. She lays down heavily beside him, and he absently rubs her stomach. The fantasies of moving in start playing on a dreamy, post-orgasm silver screen in his head, her milk still tangy on the tip of his tongue. “Hope I didn’t shake you up too much, little one,” he says, quietly.

“That was the whole idea!” Rey laughs, exasperated, then suddenly gasps, her face crumpling in on itself.

“Rey?”

“Shit. I think—I think that was a contraction.”

She looks at Ben in wonder, who smiles, if sadly. “Glad I could help, I guess,” he says. The fantasy was sublime, while it lasted. He could survive on the memory of this for a long, long time.

 

Outside, the sound of knocking on the front door.

 

Rey stills. She and Ben lay there, frozen and cooling in their own sweat, as if they can hide in their tender, warm nest if they just don’t move.

 

The slam of the door opening. The jangling of keys. “Rey?” comes a voice. Male voice. Hux-voice.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Rey says.

 

“Rey? Are you home?” Heavy footsteps are padding closer, too quickly to take stock of, for Ben to make real. The door opens. “You said the baby was coming and I--- I had to see both of you---“

 

Ben doesn’t remember Hux looking like such a hot mess; he’d somehow accrued some god-like status through the layered memory of Ben’s overactive imagination. He’s just a man, hair limp, disheveled, his cheeks pale as his mouth works over silent words, open, shut, open again. His eyes fly back and forth between Ben and his girlfriend, the scene of his surprise practically baroque-worthy, needing to be painted. Just a man. 

 

“ _Rey_ ,” he gasps, finally, as if that explains all of it. Ben thinks of his come, cooling inside her even now, and how he doesn’t really know her.

 

She shrugs. “Well. The baby’s coming.”


End file.
